“And if she uncovers more than you planned?” Knox’s voice carries that edge he gets when he’s pushing boundaries. “What if she finds information that changes the game entirely?”
I meet his gaze. “Then I adapt.”
Vane sets his tablet on my desk, the screen displaying security feeds from throughout Purgatory. Staff members move through corridors, making final preparations. In a few hours, the participants will arrive, masks in place, identities temporarily surrendered to the night’s possibilities.
“The other participants are standard,” Vane reports, his tone clinical. “Wealth seekers, thrill chasers, a few genuinely curious about power dynamics. None present strategic concerns.”
“Except for the mayor’s daughter.” Knox sprawls deeper into his chair, completely at ease despite the tension crackling through the room. “Cora Pike could be problematic if anything happens to daddy’s little girl.”
Cora Pike sends another ripple of complication through an already complex situation. She signed the NDA rashly, driven by loyalty to her friend rather than a clear understanding of what she was agreeing to. Unlike Mira, who walked into this with her eyes wide open, Cora stumbled in blindly.
“Pike won’t be an issue,” I say, though the words taste uncertain. “She’s here as support for Sullivan, nothing more.”
“Unless she becomes leverage.” Vane’s observation cuts through my confidence like a blade. “Mira cares about her friend. Emotional attachments create vulnerabilities.”
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. Mira’s fierce protectiveness over Cora could become a weapon turned against her, a pressure point I could exploit if necessary.
The realization sits heavy in my chest, uncomfortable in ways I don’t want to examine.
“This is still just another Hunt,” I tell them, though the words sound hollow even to me. “The participants enter, challenges are completed, and suitable matches are identified. Nothing more complex than that.”
Knox laughs, the sound sharp and knowing. “Keep telling yourself that, brother. But we both know this stopped being just another Hunt the moment you decided to invite a journalist who’s been investigating us.”
Knox’s words linger in the air long after my brothers leave, their truth cutting deeper than I care to admit. I remain seated, staring at the closed laptop that had shown me Mira’s apartment, her life, her carefully constructed normalcy that’s about to be shattered.
I rise and make my way through corridors I’ve walked countless times. In these rooms, power has been negotiated and surrendered, where masks have fallen away to reveal the truth beneath. Tonight feels different, charged with an energy that has nothing to do with the usual excitement of a Hunt.
The elevator carries me down to the maze level, itsdoors opening to reveal the labyrinth I’ve designed and refined over the years. Geometric walls stretch before me, creating pathways that lead deeper into shadow and possibility.
But as I step to the edge of the maze’s entrance, looking out at the controlled chaos of final preparations. The anticipation is there, the thrill of orchestrating encounters designed to strip away pretense.
Yet underneath that familiar excitement runs a new sensation entirely.
This isn’t another Hunt—not with Mira Sullivan about to walk these passages.
The thought of her navigating these walls, facing obstacles that will test not just her physical limits but her psychological boundaries, sends heat spiraling through me. She’ll move through this maze seeking truth, unaware that what she finds might transform her more than any story she writes ever could.
I watch technicians adjust camera angles, ensuring perfect coverage of every corner and every moment of revelation. In a few hours, participants will arrive masked and curious, ready to discover what they’re truly made of.
But Mira... Mira will enter the Hunt in search of truth. And in doing so, she’ll become prey to forces she doesn’t yet understand.
The irony isn’t lost on me. The woman investigating my secrets is about to become my greatest secret of all.
14
MIRA
Purgatory’s neon sign bathes the street in red, throwing shadows across our path as Cora and I reach the entrance, ten o’clock sharp. My grip tightens around the porcelain mask, smooth and cold in my hands.
“I still can’t believe you wore that,” I mutter, eyeing Cora’s flowing emerald dress that barely comes to mid-thigh. The fabric catches the light with every step, beautiful and impractical for the Hunt.
“What’s wrong with it?” Cora smooths down the skirt, spinning slightly so the material flares around her legs. “I look amazing.”
“It’s not about looking amazing. It’s about mobility.” I gesture at my own outfit—black leggings that hug my legs like a second skin, a fitted tank top that won’t snag on anything, and running shoes that will actually let me move. “We don’t know what this Hunt involves.”
Cora laughs, the sound bright against the heavy bassthrumming from the club. “You look like you’re going to the gym rather than an exclusive event, Mira. This is supposed to be sophisticated and mysterious, not CrossFit.”
“Sophisticated doesn’t matter if I can’t run.”
